


They Make Manipulation A Virtue

by BlackHawksChild



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mr. & Mrs. Smith Fusion, Alternative Universe - CIA, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 03:10:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6267178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackHawksChild/pseuds/BlackHawksChild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My edited and alternative version of Chapters Twenty and Twenty-One of my story, Mr. & Mrs. Barton. I hope you all enjoy these two chapters :) – Based in an alternative universe which stars Clint as a CIA Agent and Natasha as a SVR Agent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

The dark Russian night sky was illuminated by bright stars. The night was cold, wet and gloomy, fitting the mood of the sniper accurately. _'How was I so stupid? How did I miss all of the signs?'_ Taking a deep breath, Clint moved his scope to focus on the entrance to the SVR building in Moscow, directly across from the skyscraper he had set up on, waiting for his new target. She'd been in there for twenty-six minutes forty-seven seconds and counting. The lying, manipulative minx had fooled him for almost six years. Of all the people who had to be his next target, it had to be _her_. His stormy grey eyes narrowed in concentration despite all the thoughts and memories running through his mind. ' _Were they all fake_?' As the steady rain began to pour down in Moscow, one new prominent thought crossed his mind on repeat: tonight would decide the rest of his life indefinitely.

Thinking back to when he had been given his assignment, he couldn't help but remember the feeling of betrayal that bit him when he learned of her deception…

* * *

" _Here's your new assignment, Barton," Phil Coulson informed the sniper as he handed the twenty-nine-year-old the manilla folder. "She's a tough one, Clint."_

" _Aren't they always?" Clint joked as he opened the folder, freezing in surprise as he looked at the picture of his next target._

" _Natalia Romanova," Phil read, not bothering to look at his agent as he continued, "Russian operative and native. Very accomplished assassin, interrogator and manipulator. Total number of confirmed kills; unknown. Trained in all known styles of hand-to-hand combat. Multilingual: speaks over twenty languages fluently. Clint, she's almost like the female Russian version of you. Only she has red hair and green eyes. And she's three years younger than you…"_

 _Clint didn't reply. He thought he was seeing things. How could_ she _be his next target? How was this even possible?_

" _Clint? Clinton? Barton?!"_

" _Uh… sorry… Yeah?"_

" _Is there a problem? You just zoned out on me there…"_

" _No," Clint lied, keeping his eyes focused on the contents of the folder. "No, sir. There's no problem," he added even as he stared into the empty eyes of the assassin he had just been assigned to terminate. The same green eyes of his wife…_

* * *

Clint gritted his teeth at the memory, biting back the anger and pain of the betrayal he had been made victim of that day. Why didn't he do that bloody background check on Natasha when they'd first met? Had he really been that stupid just because he'd been so love-struck?

Suddenly, his phone began vibrating in his pocket. Steadying his sniper rifle with his right hand, the sniper used his left hand to fish his phone out of his back pocket. He almost laughed at the irony. His wife, the mother of his two-year-old son, was calling him. Deciding to play along, he pressed the ' _Accept Call_ ' button and brought it to his ear. "Hello, sweetheart?"

"Hey, Honey. Have you arrived yet? Did Erik make any fuss when you dropped him off at your brother's?" she replied her voice holding no trace of her native Russian accent. It almost made him wonder if that folder had been right. Almost.

"I'm just waiting for a taxi to the hotel, sweetheart. Are we still going out for dinner tonight?" he asked, playing his wealthy persona which he had perfected throughout the six years of their marriage. "And no, Erik didn't make a fuss. But he's missing his mother."

"I miss him too, Clint. I'm nearly finished here with all the paperwork. We'll be able to go home soon," she answered. "As for dinner, if that's what you'd like, yes. The hotel serves lovely good. I'm almost finished at the office so I'll see you in twenty minutes. Is that okay?"

"That's perfect, sweetheart. I'll see you then."

"I love you, Clint."

"Love you too, Natasha."

Hanging up the phone, Clint glanced at the time; 20.97. Plenty of time for him to watch Natasha leave the building and still make it to the hotel before her. But recalling their phone call made him pause: she'd asked for their son immediately. Clint didn't doubt that she'd move mountains for their son. And that alone almost made him believe that she wasn't the woman described in his mission brief. That she wasn't the assassin that was to be terminated. But he wasn't going to be fooled by her fake personas. No, not this time. But damn, the revelation of his wife's manipulation did hurt him…

* * *

Ten minutes later, the twenty-nine-year-old watched as his wife exited the building, her red hair undeniable to his hawk-like eyes. Making her was to the black Audi R5, Clint watched on as the car took off towards their hotel. Quickly, the sniper packed up his rifle and other equipment, removing all traces that he'd been there. Once all traces were removed, he changed into his all black suit. When he was ready, he made his way down to his car, throwing his equipment into the boot. He got into the car, turned on the engine and pulled out onto the Moscow street, racing towards the Astrus Hotel. He took every possible shortcut he could take. And it worked out in his favour. He arrived a good ten minutes before Natasha, the sniper parking in the hotel's car-park and made his way to reception to collect his room key. Once he had everything he wanted in place, Clint made his way back to the dining-room. He found his wife already there, dressed in a black evening gown, her long red curly hair brushed over her shoulder in the way he had always told her – truthfully – that he loved. She looked as beautiful as the day they met. She looked like his wife, like Erik's mother. Mentally, he frowned. She was the enemy. Not his wife. Not Erik's mother. Not at that moment. He forced himself to focus, trying to ignore the contradicting memories playing in his mind.

"Hiya, Stranger," Natasha greeted with a loving smile, standing up to hug her husband.

"Hiya back," Clint replied, returning her hug. "Why so affectionate?" he asked, appearing to tease her but he was genuinely curious to see his wife's reply.

"I missed you. And I miss Erik," she answered as she sat down across from him. "And I learned something at work today. When were you going to tell me, _Special Agent_ Barton?" she suddenly asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he responded, feigning innocence.

"Don't play dumb, Clint. It's not a good look on you. I know who you really work for. And it's not that crappy lie you gave me about owning your own security service," she stated, her usually playful green eyes narrowing into the same dark murderous and empty ones he'd seen in her profile.

"When were _you_?" he retorted, making his wife – was she still his wife? She married under an alias – pause and think about his question.

"Touché, Mr. Barton," she appeased slightly just as the waiter arrived to take their orders. "Pinot blanc," Natasha ordered, smiling at the young man as he quickly wrote down their orders. Once the young man left, she turned back to her husband. "You were waiting outside the SVR, weren't you, _Honey_?" she asked, her voice laced with bittersweet memories. They both knew it wasn't a question.

"Did you really need to ask?" Clint retorted sarcastically. "I'm not fond of my marks getting a head-start on me. I'm very efficient worker."

"What do you want me to say, Clint? We both lied to each other. Used each other to maintain aliases outside world. I'm not the only one at fault here."

"What about Erik? Is he really mine?" He was afraid to ask; afraid of the answer.

"I cannot believe you seriously just asked me that," she snarled at him, genuine hurt evident on her face and in her voice.

"I need to know. Is. He. Mine?"

"Yes. He. Is. Do a damn paternity test if you want. I can promise you that you're the only possible father to _our_ son."

"I still want a divorce… Natasha."

"No. Really?" she deadpanned, cocking her head to the side and raising an eyebrow at him. The same look she used when he did something either highly amusing or highly stupid.

"Thirty-six hours ago," he started, watching the twenty-seven-year-old in front of him carefully as he spoke. "I was given the order to put an end to you. I also found out that my wife of six years and the mother of my two-year-old son had lied to me. Manipulated me. In all fairness that gives me the right to be an arrogant, sarcastic prick right now."

"Then we have mutual feelings about the situation. So it comes down to us having our last dinner together before what? One of us kills the other?"

"Why would you care?" he replied, genuinely curious. "I was just a cover. Someone for you to use so you could get a Green Card into the US."

"Clint," she started, frowning at him. "First off, who said you were just a cover? And secondly, I do not want our son growing up without either of us."

Clint paused at her words. ' _What?_ ' he thought to himself, completely thrown off balance by both his wife's question and statement. Glancing into her softening green eyes, he recognised the same hurt and sadness he'd felt since he'd been given his orders. Then he thought about Coulson's actions during their debrief: his handler had been too calm, too relaxed. ' _Damn it!_ ' he thought – all-the-while voicing, "Wasn't I?" out loud. His wife's answering silence was all that he needed. ' _It wasn't Tasha who totally betrayed my trust after all._ ' The sniper took in their surroundings as the waiter returned to pour their wine. "You do realise that we have to redo every conversation we've ever had, right?" he asked after a few minutes of silence.

"That's your only concern right now?" she asked, a small grin crossing her face.

"No," he started, returning her grin with his own lopsided one. "No, it's not. But I thought you want me to be honest and let you know."

"We have a decision to make," she replied, watching her husband carefully.

"Follow our orders? Or take Erik, turn our backs on our respective agencies, and disappear?"

Natasha nodded in agreement to Clint's second option. "Do you still want a divorce?" she asked, surprising Clint with the suddenness of the question.

Clint raced over and caught Natasha's left hand with his right. "I only said that because I thought you were my enemy," he answered honestly, earning a soft smile from his wife.

"What should we do then?" she replied, tightening her hold on his right hand while her own picked at the white silk table cloth. She traced the hand stitched designs, her eyes flickering to Clint's every now and again. "Get Erik and go off grid? Both the CIA and SVR will come looking for us."

"And we know the way they _both_ think. They won't be able to find us. We can disappear, leave this life. I have funds in various banks under different aliases, across the globe. The CIA don't know about them. Any of them. I'm sure you have the same.

"Are you sure you can turn your back on your friends? Aren't you going to feel guilty betraying them?" Natasha asked; her husband had been part of the CIA for the past twelve years.

"Not as guilty as I would've been if I betrayed you and Erik by terminating you," he replied. "My family comes first. Always."


	2. Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song referenced is The Script's 'If You Ever Come Back'. Happy St. Patrick's Day everybody or Shona Lá Fhéile Naomh Phádraig – I'm Irish, I'm going to use it :)

Natasha kept her eyes locked on the scenery outside the car window, her brain barely registering the song the radio station was currently playing. Clint was humming along to the song as he drove, his fingers tapping the beat on the steering wheel every now and again. But her nervous mind had her mostly tuned out as her husband drove them across the New York Interstate.

Suddenly, she heard Clint begin to sing along to a new song. " _If the truth is you're a liar/ Then just say that you're okay…_ "

"Seriously, Clint?" she asked, raising an eyebrow in disbelief at her husband.

"Hey, I didn't pick the song. It's the radio station," he protested, shrugging his shoulders. "And, technically, you are a professional liar."

Natasha sighed and shifted in her seat to look at her husband. "We have to talk about this, Clint. I don't want Erik to see us like this when we reach your brother's."

"Talk about what exactly, Tasha? There's a lot we need to talk about. You need to be more specific."

"You still think that you and Erik are just a cover for me. Neither of you are. How can I convince you of that?"

Clint bit his bottom lip, noticing the almost desperate and hurt tone in his wife's voice. "You were an assassin, interrogator and manipulator for the Russian version of the CIA. You've lied to me for the past seven years. It's going to take a while for me to trust you again. But I don't doubt that you love me and Erik. And I love you too. But I just can't trust you fully. Not at the moment. Can you deal with that?" he replied softly.

"And you lied to me too, Clint," she answered, refraining from answering her husband's question for a few minutes. "I'm not the only one at fault for lying."

"I gave you a broad basic layout of my job description, Tasha. And if I lied about anything important, they were lies of omission. I never said I was a business CEO's PA. I never lied about where I was going for work. I didn't marry under an alias."

Natasha dropped her head, suddenly finding her jeans very interesting. "I was trying to protect you and Erik," she whispered picking at a loose thread at her knee. "I didn't want to involve you and Erik in my life as a SVR operative. I couldn't lose either of you."

Clint smiled slightly at his wife's words. He reached over and wrapped his left arm around hers, squeezing lightly before returning his hand to the steering wheel. "No more lies, okay? No more big secrets and we'll be okay," he told her, smiling at her out of the corner of his eye. "It'll take time but we'll be okay." He was willing to work on their marriage if she was willing to work on their marriage if she was willing to stop keeping secrets.

Natasha returned his smile and nodded. "I can't wait to see Erik again," she stated, grinning at the thought of her two-year-old son. She knew that the minute she had Erik in her arms, things would finally start to feel like they could get better.

Clint grinned as well; their little boy was the apple of their eyes. "Neither can I, Tasha. Neither can I…"

* * *

Natasha took a deep breath as she climbed out of the car, automatically taking in the surroundings of her brother-in-law's neighbourhood. You could take the operative out of the field but you couldn't take the field out of the operative. Clint followed her actions, standing behind her, placing a reassuring hand to the small of her back. "Come on, Mommy. Let's get our little boy," he whispered to her, smiling when she quickly nodded. The twenty-nine-year-old led his wife up the driveway to the front door, knocking three times in quick succession. He smiled as he and Natasha heard Erik shouting to his Uncle Barney that they had visitors.

Barney opened the door and was shocked to see his brother and sister-in-law standing on the front porch. "Aren't one of you supposed to be in a body bag in Russia?" he greeted, raising an amused eyebrow at his brother.

Clint grinned and shrugged his shoulders. "You were right. I couldn't kill her. So I made a different call," he replied, stepping inside with Natasha as Barney moved aside to allow them entry. The twenty-nine-year-old waited until his brother closed the front door before informing him, "Natasha and I are going off grid. Somewhere with no extradition. We're bringing Erik with us." They needed to disappear, to start afresh and be there for their little boy.

Barney nodded in understanding. "I knew this reunion was going to have repercussions," he stated, scratching his chin in thought. "The CIA and SVR will be looking for you. A country with no extradition and poor relations will be an ideal place to turn to for the time being," he added, automatically going through the FBI files he had memorised from work.

"I already have a place set up. But the less people who know about it the better," Natasha informed her brother-in-law, while relaxing herself from immediately following the second of her son's voice. "This will probably be the last time you see us for a while."

"Don't worry, I'm sure I'll be seeing you again someday. But right now, you two need to keep each other and your little boy safe," Barney replied. "Erik's in the play room," he added, noticing that his brother and sister-in-law were dying to see their son. "He missed his mom and dad."

Natasha and Clint smiled and nodded. "We missed him too," Clint replied, following his wife as she made her way to the play room. The red-head grinned as she entered the play room, finding her son and his cousin, Emma, playing contently contently in the room. She watched as Clint stood behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist protectively. "He's safe, Tasha. He's okay. Our little boy is okay," he whispered in her ear, instinctively knowing the dark thoughts playing his wife's mind.

Natasha was about to ask Clint how he knew what was bothering her but she was interrupted by Erik realising that they were there.

"Mommy! Daddy!" Erik shouted in delight clambering to his feet and running to Natasha and Clint, his feet pattering against the floor.

Clint let go of Natasha's waist so she could bend and pick up Erik. The little boy wrapped his arms tightly around his mother's neck, refusing to let go even as she shifted so he was settled comfortable on her hip. Clint proceeded to wrap his arms around his wife and son, holding his family close as he pressed his lips to her son's temple.

"We missed you, Erik," Natasha whispered to her son, kissing his cheek lovingly as Erik Clung to her. "We missed you so much. Were you good for Uncle Barney and Auntie Ashley?"

Erik nodded, slowly lifting his head to grin at his parents. "I was good. We goes to the zoo. We do art class in the play room. Uncle Barney gots me a new toy. But I missed you. I don't want you to go again," the two-year-old rambled, making mistakes some of his grammar. "You not going again, are you? You going to leave me again?"

"No, Little Man, we're not," Clint replied, smiling as his wife held their son tightly, pressing kisses to Erik's cheeks and forehead comfortingly. "But we are going away for a while. But you are coming with us. So we had to pack some stuff for you before we came here. But we have to leave soon."

Erik's grin could beat the brightness of the stars. "I goes with you. We stays together?" he asked excitedly, looking between his parents. "Is Lucky coming too?" he asked, referring to their three-year-old, one-eyed Labrador.

Natasha grinned and shook her head in disbelief. "Yes, Erik, Lucky's coming with us. We wouldn't leave him behind," she replied, smiling as Erik placed a sloppy kiss on her cheek in gratitude. "I love you, Erik," she added in a soft whisper, smiling as her son pulled himself closer to her.

Clint grinned at his son as the two-year-old babbled away to Natasha and him about his activities over the past two weeks. Both parents listened attentively to their son, more than willing to hear what little boy had been up while they were away…

* * *

Clint smiled at his sleeping son. Erik was curled up in his father's protective hold as the two waited for Natasha to finish with the farewells. Ashley was currently reassuring more than the twenty-seven-year-old, Ashley's brown eyes and dark brown hair shining in the low October sun. Barney stood behind his wife, his red-brown hair a rosy glow in the sunlight, with Emma perched sleepily on his hip, her red-brown hair tied up in a ponytail. The eighteen-month-old rubbed her eyes sleepily; she wasn't far behind Erik for her bedtime.

"Ashley," Natasha started for the umpteenth time, "We'll be fine, I promise. If we need you, we'll contact you. This is only temporary. Now, Clint and I really need to go. We need to get to the airfield by nine."

Ashley hugged Natasha one more time. "Call us. Anything. Anytime," she whispered.

"I know. I promise," Natasha replied, pulling away. "Take care of your girls, Barney," she ordered her brother-in-law with a grin.

"And take care of your boys," Barney replied with a grin. "Until the next reunion, Nat."

Natasha nodded and made her way to the car as Clint placed a sleeping Erik into his car seat. The red-head smiled at the sight of father and son before climbing into the passenger seat. Clint was quick and efficient with placing his son into the car seat, taking care not to jostle the two-year-old too much. Once he was satisfied that Erik was secure, Clint climbed into the driver's seat, waving at Barney and Ashley one more time before starting the car and pulling out of the driveway. Lucky was lying soundly beside Erik's car seat, the Labrador watching his youngest owner carefully as Clint drove the car out of the neighbourhood.

"What made you choose Andorra, Tasha?" Clint asked as he pulled the car onto the New York Interstate. He was curious to see his wife's answer: he liked the cooler climates in Winter and warm ones in Summer. Andorra was one country that offered both and had a good economy at the moment.

"It has no extradition, currently has poor relations with both the US and Russia. Not the worse relations but also not the best either. Plus the economy is doing well enough. And it's weather that you like."

Clint grinned. "And it's when you do things like this that I know you really love me," he teased, smiling when she grinned at him. Natasha reached over and squeezed his thigh softly. "I love you, Clint. And our son," she whispered, turning her head to look back at their sleeping son.

"We love you too, Tasha. Now let's get started on making our new life…"

* * *

Natasha smiled as she watched Clint and Erik make a snowman outside their Andorran home in Lake Engolasters. It had been two quick months since they went off grid in Moscow. Two months of living normal lives. The red-head looked up as a new light shower of snow began to fall. She glanced back down at her husband and their son just as the two-year-old squealed in delight as his father swung him around in an aeroplane motion.

"Daddy!" Erik squealed, laughing and grinning as Clint repeated the motions. "Again, Daddy! Again!"

"You're going to be dizzy if I keep it up," Clint replied, slowing his motions until he came to a stop. "And Mommy would be very upset with Daddy if you got sick."

"Okay," Erik replied, appeased by his father's reasoning. The two-year-old grinned as he spotted his mother on the back porch. "Mommy!" he screeched as he ran towards Natasha after climbing down from his father's protective hold.

Natasha grinned and caught Erik in a loving hug, pressing her lips to his forehead lovingly, her arms wrapped protectively around her son. Erik wrapped his arms around his mother's neck, holding her close while he rested his head in the crook of her neck. The red-head smiled as her husband walked up to them, the twenty-nine-year-old grinning back at her. "Still not regretting my decision," he told her, kissing her chastely in greeting. "And you should've told me you were pregnant again as well."

"You still thought that you and Erik were just a cover," she responded, raising an amused eyebrow when her husband smirked at her. "I didn't want to add the news of my pregnancy on top of it."

"And now I know the truth," he replied, wrapping his arms around her waist, pressing his lips to Erik's head softly as the two-year-old played sleepily with Natasha's wedding and engagement rings. "Promise me that you won't manipulate me again," he whispered as he kissed her temple. "Even if you mean to surprise me with something good."

"I'll promise you if you promise the same," she replied, holding her son dose while her husband wrapped his arms around their growing family protectively. "But I will manipulate you when I want you to help with housework. Or when the baby needs its diaper changed," she informed him with a grin.


End file.
